The Burning Ceremony
by SixSeasons
Summary: The ceremony of magic-giving to L-sama...


The wind is silent, for it is forbidden to blow. The stars are black, for they are forbidden to shine. All must not exist on the Night of Chaos. Suddenly, a set of eyes opens, casting a glow into the stillness. But it is almost impossible to tell that they are eyes, for they are only the whites, and nothing else. Slowly, more sets of eyes that are not eyes open over the vast plain that does not exist. For nothing may exist. This is the night when magic is taken away, and divine purpose is given in its place. This is the night the Lord of Nightmares feeds.

A flame bursts to life, and a red gloaming roams against the ruins. The silhouettes of stone monuments come into view, each shaped like the body of a man, with two legs and a hip joining them, but anyone can tell that they are meant as men. A set of eyes flickers open from the center of the silhouettes, and body that they are held in is standing on a great stone table. As the flames grow higher around the block, his figure takes shape. He is clothed in white robes, with a hood that conceals his face. And he begins to chant.

Chants echo his, in the voice of thousands, but yet simultaneously, so it seems as though there is but one person. More white-cloaked bodies come forth from between the legs of the stone men, and form a many-ringed circle, chanting in a language that they themselves do not even know. And then all is silent, for nothing may exist on the Night of Chaos.

Then Nothing speaks. The man on the table lifts his arms and prays. He has been assigned to be Nothing tonight, the one who may hold the metaphorical spoon to feed the Lord of Nightmares. He does not grovel and bow, for he is only there because he is indeed worthy. He has banished his existence in exchange for the Lord's divine purpose.

And so, the Burning Ceremony begins.

Three children line up, clothed not in the white robes of the others, but instead in black capes, their hands and faces exposed. These three still exist. They have been deemed worthy to become part of Her Will. The first one walks forward. Her face is the epitome of joy. Finally she will be freed from this mortal shell. Her magic will be burned away, and in its stead, she will be given a meaning for her life. She walks proudly towards the stone table. Ignoring the priests' proffered hand, she climbs upon it herself, and lies down. She has waited long enough. The priest chants and the flames flicker. Suddenly, her eyes wrench open. Blasts of red escape from her body upward, ripping themselves from her, but she remains silent. A moment passes and a great white light spirals down from the heavens chaotically, and shatters into her. She lies still, and then her eyes, once a piercing blue, are now a dull white. But she smiles. The chanters cheer, and the young girl runs joyfully into her parents' arms.

The second child runs towards the table, grinning. The priest picks him up and smiles proudly at him. Then he lays him down onto the wooden table. This is his own son. The chanting resumes, and now the voices are joined by a higher soprano that fits in perfectly - the voice of the young girl. A rush of fire and red flees the boy's body and escapes into the dark sky. A brilliant white floods back into his small being, and he too, smiles. His vacant white eyes travel towards his mother and he runs to join her.

The third child takes a deep breath. He walks halfway to the table, but stops. Sensing something wrong, the priest walks towards the boy. The boy shakes his head, and the priest is aghast. The boy is frightened. Two younger priests clasp him by the arms and drag him towards the table. He screams. The silence has been broken by something other then the chants and cheers. His father looks towards the small boy as he is shoved towards the table.

"Wait." All eyes turn towards the second who dared to speak. "Why is he afraid? No one has ever been afraid! What's wrong?"

The priest looks at the man. No use in being silent now. "The boy must have a demon in him. The demon knows the process will kill him. That is all." The boy and his father grow calm. A demon, that is all. The boy removes the others arms from his person and walks of his own will towards the table. The dragging of his feet, the sweating, and the unbearable pounding of his heart, they are all just demons. Nothing more. Why could he not convince himself?

He lies on the table and trembles. He listens to the others chant, but they seem so far away now. And he looks into the sky and sees not the comforting face of the Lord as everyone else had seen, but a contorted beast with ruby eyes. Perhaps it was the face of the demon within him...?

And then the redness of his magic leaves him, and he screams again. The scream of a man dying, a death rattle scream, loud and wailing and wet. And the redness of his magic kept leaving. So long, that thread of magic. So powerful. He would have been perhaps the strongest magician to have ever lived.

His father stares, then loudly breaks the silence. Silence, except for his son's screaming. "Why? Why is he screaming now? Please, this is not just a demon. That thread of magic shouldn't be so long! Don't you agree with me that something is not right? Stop it, priest! Stop it!"

His mother puts up a hand to silence her husband. "Hush. There is nothing wrong. You are being foolish. If this is what is taken, think of what he will be given!"

His father shakes his head. "No. He doesn't want it! Why else would scream? Please, priest, stop!"

Slowly the chanters nod. The boy still screams; something is not right. The priest turns towards the boy and chants a spell to stop the ceremony, but the words have not finished leaving his mouth when he is struck dead.

The boy's screams cease, and his head falls to the side. He is barely breathing. The red has stopped coming from his body, but no white divine light is sent down to replace it. The redness disappears from the sky, and the beautiful face of the Lord looks back down upon the child, and Her eyes seem to whisper apologies. Slowly the boy opens his eyes, and they are still a magnificent blue. He faints.

* * *

The room is warm, and he looks up. His mother sits beside him. "Honey, are you okay? You've been out for a while!" She laughs nervously. Something doesn't feel right about her boy.

He regards her a moment, then shakes her hand off his shoulder. Looking straight into her white eyes, he all but whispers. "I hate you."

She balks, and then stands up. "How dare you say that to your mother!"

He steadies his gaze, never once looking away, never once blinking. "You are not my mother. I have no mother. Only the heartless creature that gave birth to me, and then sold my magic to a monster."

And he ran. He ran as fast as he could without the magic, the magic that had once been there. And behind him, his mother cries out. "Zelgadis! Zelgadis! Come back!"

* * *

Author's Notes:

And so Zel loses his magic and thus grows up wanting to be strong. The end. : )


End file.
